


Two Angry Kittens

by maccabird_23



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Goon Reference, If we all collectively wish that for the Kane/Seguin fight, M/M, My heart wishes that Kane and Seguin would fight, The Stars and Hawks play their season opener October 9th, Then we can all Phone Home Together, a dream is a wish your heart makes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2018-02-18 20:26:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2361206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maccabird_23/pseuds/maccabird_23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The vision before them could only be described as two kittens, batting at each other’s muzzles, with furiously, angry paws, and failing miserably at actually fighting. Johnny was not hyperbolizing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Angry Kittens

            It was the first game of the season. And by midway into the second period Johnny could tell it was going to be a shit show of monstrous proportions. A turd pile, carved with a crap shovel, into an excrement statue. It was a twin statue, with Johnny and Pat’s faces on it.  Maybe they could make room at the United Center, and put it right next to Hall and Mikita’s.

 

 

            Benn and Seguin had been lighting it up, making slick passes like they had the puck on a string. Toews remembered Jamie from Sochi. His eyes wide with wonder the first time they hit the ice wearing the maple leaf on their chests. Even after he scored the golden goal to beat the US, his Opie Taylor disposition never waivered.

 

 

            Now, with a constant smirk, and a cocksure stride all his shucks seemed to be gone. Stripped away, and Johnny was sure that it was all Seguin’s fault. If Patrick had relayed anything of significance to Toews about playing with Segs during the lockout it was the fact that debauchery just seemed to occur in his wake.

 

 

            And coming from Pat, that certainly said something.

 

 

            But whatever Segs and Benn did in their personal lives wasn’t any of Johnny’s business. What mattered, and what caused Toews to be on hair trigger all night was the fact that Seguin and Benn seemed to be two plays ahead of him whenever they touched the puck. They had racked up a hattrick, and seven points between them, and the kids didn’t tire.

 

 

            Kaner had been agitated since the intermission interview, where he had to orally circle jerk the new dynamic duo, and give good sound bites about how Segs was shaping up to be an amazing two-way player. Johnny could tell that the connecting door to their hotel rooms would probably stay shut tonight. The fact made his eye twitch.

 

 

            But Toews knew he had to keep his cool. His four trips to the penalty box hadn’t helped anyone, and he didn’t need a repeat of Red Wings, game five. If anything was going to make the highlight reel tonight it was probably going to be the two shorthanded goals that Pat had been on the wrong end of. He could see Kaner’s frustration from his end of the bench, as he chewed on his bottom lip and bothered his stitches until they were red and puffy.

 

 

And, wow! That wasn’t a kink Johnny didn’t know he had.

 

It was around the halfway point of the third period that Toews knew Coach Q was going for the Hail Mary Pass. He tapped Johnny on the shoulder and then tapped Pat, gesturing for them to go out on the same line. Toews blinked rapidly, turning to stare intensely at Kane as he skated behind him, getting in position for the faceoff.

 

 

“You ready, Kaner?”

 

 

Pat grinned, and then winced as he stretched his stitches. “It’s Showtime, baby!” It was more a question than an exclamation, but at this point Johnny would run with it.

 

 

            And it was like riding a bicycle. Toews wasn’t saying that there was a light in his stomach that was calling to the light in Kaner’s stomach. He’d leave that type of beautiful poetry to the movie reel, but you didn’t tally three goals in ten minutes unless you had some crazy chemistry with a guy.

 

 

            The momentum kept flowing, with Saad and Hossa sliding two past Lehtonen in the last five minutes. And that made it a one-goal game. That excrement sculpture was growing beautiful flowers, coming up roses, and maybe Johnny needed to spend less time with his hippie, blogger friends.

 

 

            It was around the nineteen-minute mark that things got weird. Pat had gone to play the puck behind the net, and Benn followed, pinning him against the board. Johnny knew that Jamie could get pretty hot headed, but what captain didn’t when his team was getting steam rolled with less than one minute left. Benn checked a little harder, cursed a little louder, pushed Kaner to the ice…

 

 

            Every captain had his hair trigger, and Jamie just touched his. It only took two strides to get to Benn’s smug little face, with his angry, red cheeks, and flaring nostrils. Jonny got the fat knob of his stick hard into Jamie’s chest plate, pushing him to the boards.

 

 

            “You wanna fight someone your own size, Chubbs?”

 

 

            They were gathering a crowd, and from his peripheral he could see Seguin advancing, gloves already off. Johnny pushed his elbows out, readying for the full force of the 195-pound Center. 

 

 

            But it never came, as a blur of blonde blocked his vision, and propelled right into Seguin. As his vision cleared, he froze, hands bunched into the fabric of Benn’s gaudy, green jersey. Jamie clung back, fist tightening more for purchase, as they both watched the situation that unraveled before their eyes. Johnny couldn't give it a name. Such an abomination should never be given a name. But the nagging voice at the back of his head, that strangely sounded like Shawsy, screamed, ‘kitten fight!’ And so it was.

 

 

            Not a catfight. Cats were mean and would scratch your face off if given the chance. No. The vision before them could only be described as two kittens, batting at each other’s muzzles, with furiously, angry paws, and failing miserably at actually fighting. Johnny was not hyperbolizing.

 

 

            They were horizontal, rolling around on the ice. Kaner delivering open handed slaps to the back of Tyler’s neck, and Segs holding tight to a hand full of blond curls.

 

            “Motherfucking, cock-eating, stank-ass bitch. Ow! Stop pulling my hair”

 

            “Fucking dumb, balding whore. You slap like an arthritic grandmother.”

 

           Two refs were circling them uneasily, throwing questioning looks at both him and Benn.

 

 

            He threw a look at Jamie, who shrugged before turning his attention back to their ‘brawling’ teammates. They’d manage to hook their legs around each other, and were now banging their pelvises together, in what could only be called a very dry hump session.  

 

 

            “Should we intervene?” Benn gestured, hand flailing. 

 

 

            “Not a good idea.” Johnny shook his head decisively.

 

 

            “Why’s that?” Jamie leaned closer, probably to get a better view as Pat twisted a fierce Indian Burn into Segs forearm. They both winced.

 

 

            “Self preservation.”  Johnny let out a long, suffering sigh. “If Tyler is anything like Pat, he’s not gonna want his boyfriend to intervene on his first, professional hockey fight.”

 

 

            Jamie’s eyes widened momentarily, before nodding sagely. “Better to not cock block myself.”

 

 

            It was around that time that both refs fell to the floor, to better separate the two tangled bodies. Pat and Tyler both squawked in indignation, like the badly ruffled kittens they were.

 

 

            “Besides,” Johnny continued, “this is gonna make every highlight reel for the next week, and I’d rather not co-star in that hot mess.”

 

 

            With less than a minute left in the game the refs called it early. They left Dallas without two points, but Johnny called it breaking even, especially when Jamie emailed him the short, three-minute video. It had already went viral.

 

 

 

            On the plane back home Toews turned the volume up to an eleven. Kaner winced from where he was sitting at Johnny’s side as he heard the astonished announcers give a very accurate play by play.

 

 

            “If you took two angry kittens, fitted them in skates, and then threw them in the middle of an ice rink this is the fight that would ensue.”


End file.
